


Uneven Footing

by takethisnight_wrapitaroundme



Category: Blindspot (TV)
Genre: F/M, True or False Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:36:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11581971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme/pseuds/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme
Summary: Jane and Oscar have a bit of a mishap in the shower.





	Uneven Footing

**Author's Note:**

> I definitely didn't think of this "plot" while at work. #adulting

He protested with an overly theatrical groan when she got out of bed, trying his best to keep ahold of her slim body even as it escaped from between his fingertips. She laughed when he dropped his head to the mattress, defeated, and expelled a loud sigh. She walked the few paces to her bedroom door, grabbing the robe that hung on a hook there. 

“Where are you going?” Oscar complained, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice as he moved fully onto her side of the bed, comforting himself with the warm space and familiar scent she’d left behind. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving. You can’t leave.”

“Just to shower,” Jane answered with a smile, throwing on the robe and cinching it at the waist. “I need to clean off.”

“Why bother?” he mumbled with a yawn, closing his eyes as he pressed his cheek into her pillow and breathed in deeply. “Not like you won’t have to shower again in an hour.”

She laughed at the implication, running her hand behind her neck to loosen the bit of hair that was caught beneath the robe’s collar. “You really think you can go again today? You look as if you’re halfway to death already.”

“I just need time to recover,” he mumbled. “Get my blood flowing again. I’ll be good to go in another five minutes, okay?”

“Uh-huh, sure. Well, you do that. I’m going to wash off.”

Oscar opened his eyes to glare at her for her sarcasm, but he ended up grinning instead.

“Hey,” he called, causing her to turn just as she was passing through the door. His eyes were bright with mischief as they met hers. “You look really good in that robe.”

She almost looked embarrassed. Glancing down, she frowned, and tugged at the hem. It hardly covered the tops of her thighs from the front—and even less from the back. “I didn’t realize it was this short when I bought it,” she muttered defensively. “It was in a package; I couldn’t tell the length.”

“I like the length.”

She stared down at the hem for a moment, and then looked up to meet his eyes. He was still smiling lazily at her from bed, his face resting on her pillow, and despite having been tangled together under the sheets with him not twenty minutes ago, Jane felt again that overwhelming pull—to be with him, to return to him. To never leave, not even if it was just to go into the other room.

“I’ll be back soon, I swear,” she promised. She surprised even herself at how quiet, how earnest her words were when they came out—and he looked surprised too. She could tell by the furrow forming on his previously clear forehead, but before he could ask, she left for the bathroom. They had only been dating for a handful of months now, and this was only the second week of them sleeping together. No reason to push things too far too fast.

_But that’s ridiculous,_ Jane thought to herself, pulling the bedroom door shut behind her as she stepped into the hall. Less than a year ago, she had been engaged to marry him—there was no going to far too fast; they’d already done all this before.

And sometimes, despite her memory loss, it even felt like that. Sometimes, when they were together, she lost herself in what they were doing and found herself, somehow, totally at ease. She let him set the pace and she closed her eyes and she let her body do what came naturally—what she had been remembering it doing since almost the moment she’d appeared in this new life.

There was a reason those memories of them making love had stuck so irrevocably in her brain, she thought with a smile as she turned on the shower. There was a reason why she had woken up sweating, recalling the feel of his hands on her, his mouth with hers. There was a reason it was two PM in the afternoon and neither she nor Oscar had yet left bed today.

Waking up with him beside her was still an excitingly new phenomenon. While he had spent a couple nights at her apartment before, they were few enough that she still thrilled at the idea of him staying the night, and warmed with happiness when she woke up, rolled over, and saw him asleep on the other side of the bed. She had never realized how empty her bed had been until he’d begun filling it again. The simple pleasure of having another person to stay warm with, to curl into, to whisper to at night and in the morning—she didn’t know how she had gone all these months without him. She didn’t know how she’d ever decided to leave him in the first place.

She had just finished with the soap and reached for the shampoo when she heard the door to the bathroom open. Immediately she raised her voice above the rush of the shower, warning him that if he was going to use the toilet, he better not flush. She didn’t feel like being scalded today.

But he didn’t come into the bathroom to use the toilet, as she soon found out.

“Hey!” she yelped, spinning around when she heard the curtain be yanked open. She caught a glimpse of him smiling as he stepped into the back of the tub and she couldn’t help but laugh, wondering, “What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

“Conserving water,” he answered simply, pulling the curtain shut behind him. He didn’t attempt to hide the way his eyes roamed over her body, following the trail of water as it fell on her shoulders, her breasts, down the plane of her stomach, over her thighs, and down past her calves. “And maybe I was getting a little lonely out there, too,” he added, finally meeting her eye again.

She snorted, putting her back to him as she reached for the shampoo again. “I’ve been gone two minutes, Oscar.”

“Two minutes too long,” he murmured, placing his hands on her hips and his lips on her shoulder.

She smiled at the touch, leaning happily back into his body. His chest was firm and broad behind her, and when she laid her head on his shoulder, he took the cue to wrap his arms around her middle and hug her to him. She closed her eyes. There was nothing that made her feel more at peace than feeling his arms wrapped around her.

When he bent down to kiss her neck a moment later, she sighed softly and opened her eyes.

“You’re greedy,” she whispered in his ear, and he replied by hugging her tighter, so tight that he pulled her out of the spray. She shook her head at the cold air and muttered a refusal, reaching her right hand behind his neck to pull him forward again.

“Come here,” she whispered, tugging at him. “Come under the water.”

He did as asked, moving forward until they were both soaked with warm water, and when she guided his mouth down to hers for a kiss, he surrendered to that, too. For a minute, they stood there, his arms still wrapped around her middle, hers in his hair, mouths molded together and steam rising between them to fill the bathroom.

“Turn around,” he murmured, tugging at her right hip. “Face me.”

“Why?” she breathed into his mouth. She held his arms fast around her, refusing to move. “I like it like this. I like feeling you behind me.”

“But I want to see you,” he murmured between kisses. “I want to kiss you. I want to look into your eyes while we…”

“While we?” She blinked at the trailing-off suggestion, pulling away as she turned to look at him. “While we…” Her eyes widened when she realized. “We can’t do that _here_.”

“Oh, why not? C’mon, it’s _funn_ ,” he teased, drawing out the word as he stepped to the side, deftly turning them in one quick movement so that before she realized it, her back was against the wide wall of the shower, and he was standing in front of her.

She frowned up at him, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” he chided, bending forward to kiss the frown off her face. “Don’t cross your arms at me. I’m telling you the truth, Jane: it’s fun.”

“It sounds… dangerous.”

“ _Dangerous_?” He laughed out loud, pulling back. “How is it dangerous? What are you worried about? Do you have land mines under your bathtub or something?”

“No,” she muttered. She glanced down between them at the curved surface of the tub, then up at the spraying showerhead. “But it’s slippery. What if we fall? We could get hurt, Oscar.”

“I’m _pretty_ sure we have enough coordination between the two of us to manage staying upright in a shower. Besides, what’s the worst you think is going to happen anyway—one of us falls and breaks a hip? How old are we?”

“Oscar—”

“Don’t you trust me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t play that card. Don’t make it about that. You know better.”

“I’ll make it about whatever I want to make it about. Or…” He exhaled, blowing a warm breath on the overheated skin of her shoulder as he bent his mouth to her neck again. “Or I could make it about nothing,” he murmured, trailing kisses along the curve of her collarbone. “We could just go back to bed instead and have our fun there. Hm? I can take you back to bed if you like. I could carry you. Just tell me what you want.”

Jane closed her eyes, losing herself for a moment in the onslaught of water and steam and heat and him. She felt him move closer: felt his thighs against hers, his chest, his forehead. She sighed, and when he bent forward to capture that breath, she kissed him back. Her hands rose to his wet hair, now hanging long down the back of his neck, and fisted it fiercely. She could feel him grin at her enthusiasm, and she grinned back.

“Fun?” she asked, breaking their kiss only briefly for confirmation.

He chuckled, pressing his hips against hers. “Fun,” he agreed.

Jane grinned at the feel of him, already hardening against her abdomen, and let her hands fall from his hair to his shoulders to his back. She couldn’t stop touching him. It was like the first time all over again; all she wanted to do was run her hands all over his body, to explore every inch, every hair, every pore. She wanted to know him as he knew her: intimately and fully and without doubt.

She liked to think she was well on her way there already.

She knew certain things. She knew he liked it when she pulled on his hair (be it in annoyance or arousal); she knew he loved the way she paid attention to his tattoos, kissing and touching and tracing them; she knew he always favored positions that allowed him to make love to her face-to-face; she knew he craved _her_ pleasure—craved bringing it about, watching it take over, tasting it as it came into being—more than he did his own.

And so, even this tryst, initially borne out of his wants, became an exercise in pleasing her. His hands filled themselves with her: her breasts, her hair, her ass. She grinned when she felt his erection hardening far too quickly against her, and broke their kiss only so she could tease him.

“Let me guess, we’ve done this before?”

“Once or twice,” he allowed, busying himself with adjusting the showerhead so the spray hit them more fully. Jane pulled a little on the ends of his hair; in recent weeks, during times like these, it had become her shorthand for _Tell me the full story_.

“Maybe more than once or twice,” he conceded with a chuckle, looking down at her with a grin. “There were very few, ah, _private_ places on base,” he explained, reminding her of their military days. “And this—” He tilted his head up towards the water raining down on them. “—this was mutual fantasy fulfillment.”

“More like mutual stupidity.” She shook her head at the reminder of their old life, of those insane risks they’d taken together. “God, we were stupid. As if we wouldn’t get caught in a _shower_?”

He laughed. “Yeah, we were stupid. But we were also kids, don’t forget.”

“I didn’t forget,” she whispered, her voice softening as it always did whenever he brought up just how long they’d known each other—nearly a decade now, though he was the only one that remembered all of it. They had been in their early twenties when they’d met and decided to take on the injustices of the world together. They had risked their careers, their lives. They had forfeited everything, and yet somehow— _somehow_ they were still here. Together.

Just thinking of it caused a shiver of disbelief to run through her, despite the warm water pouring on them. She couldn’t imagine how this reality of theirs awed him, he could remember every single detail in a way she never would be able to. Did he think it a miracle? Or simply a very well-laid and well-executed plan?

“We certainly were stupid then,” he affirmed, pressing a kiss to one side of her neck, “and it looks like we’re still pretty stupid now,” he finished, pressing a kiss to the opposite side.

She grinned, shoving at his right shoulder playfully before grabbing onto the left and using his height to hoist herself up. He caught her easily—it was a movement they were both practiced at, now—and rested her weight against the wall of the shower, holding her in place with a hand supporting one of her thighs while the other slid between their bodies.

She shut her eyes as he touched her, choosing for once not to reciprocate and instead to bask in what he gave her: the pleasure, the heat, that incomparable feeling of being _wanted_ , to the point of desperation.

_Two minutes too long…_

She smiled to herself, tightening her arm around his neck to guide his mouth to hers. No matter if it had caught her off-guard at first, she loved that he had followed her in here. She loved that he had followed her everywhere. She loved—

“Oh, God…” She let out a shuddering breath as he pushed inside, bowing her back away from the wall of the shower so she could be closer to him. She would never fail to be shocked by how well they fit together, how good it felt to be with him, each and every time. She knew at some point, inevitably, they would reach a plateau. Sex would become routine, perhaps boring, if they got old enough together. But for now—now it was exciting. Exhilarating. Now, she couldn’t get enough of the way he made her feel and the way she knew he felt when he was inside her. There was nothing else like it.

She tightened her legs around his back, gripping his shoulders to hoist herself up so the angle would be sharper. She smiled in triumph when she heard his responding groan of pleasure; nothing made her happier than uncovering ways to chip away at that control of his. She bent her head to his neck, kissing along the column of his throat so she could feel it the next time he moaned: the physical vibration of his pleasure seeping through into her skin.

He switched his footing in response, adjusting himself so he could push into her harder, and she cried out in approval. He was too careful with her sometimes in bed, too soft. She was excited to feel the strength in him now, and she was more than certain that their talk of their earlier days—their reenactment of them—was what had exhilarated him, too. She encouraged him by grabbing at his back and whispering for more and tightening the hold of her ankles crossed just above his ass.

She was still encouraging him when his right foot slipped out from beneath him and they both went crashing to the floor of the tub.

She fell almost completely on top of him, and so she suffered little more than extreme disorientation, but he slammed at least four different body parts on the way down, probably more, and was already moaning in pain before she had even realized what had happened.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, instinctively curling into himself as pain shot through too many parts of his body to count. “Oh, Jesus, I think—Jane, I think I broke my ass.”

She almost laughed out loud— _What did I tell you, you idiot?_ —but then she caught sight of the splash of red that was running down from the lip of the tub and rapidly infecting the pool of clear water running beneath them.

“Oh, shit,” she swore, scrambling to crouch down at his side to examine the back of his head. “Your head’s bleeding, Oscar. C’mere. Get up; you need to be looked at. We need to take you to—”

He held up a hand to fend her off. “I am _not_ going to the hospital, Jane.”

“Oscar, you hit your head _really_ hard; there’s blood—”

“Yeah, and it’s nothing some ice and gauze won’t fix,” he muttered, forcing himself into a semblance of sitting position with only the softest whine of pain. “I’ll be fine, I just…” He tried to hoist himself up but couldn’t get more than an inch off the floor of the tub without wincing and then collapsing back down. He looked up at her pitifully. “Will you help me, please? Just get me up… Please…”

She thought about refusing to help him until he promised he’d go to the hospital, but she knew it was a losing battle. He had his reasons, after all, and they were good ones. More than a few questions would be asked if a man who was supposed to be years-dead and buried in Illinois suddenly showed up in an emergency room in New York City.

“Okay, okay,” she sighed, reaching up to first turn off the water, and then step out of the tub. She carefully laid a towel on the floor to stop any further slipping, and helped him to his feet. She had him sit on the towel on the floor while she rummaged around for the first-aid kit under the sink and filled a couple of Ziploc bags with ice from the freezer.

Thankfully, it turned out that the cut on the back of his head wasn’t too deep. The water had thinned the blood, making the injury seem more pressing than it was, but still, he would need to have his head wrapped up good and tight for a while. The rest of him was covered in bruises, and over the next few hours they blossomed from red to blue to purple and worse. She did her best to help him keep pressure on them to stop some of the worst ones from swelling, but eventually that was decided a lost cause. He waved her away, and asked only that she help him get to somewhere he could lie down. She did as asked, acting as his crutch during the suddenly lengthy trip from the bathroom to the bedroom, and making sure he was comfortable and as full of painkillers as he could handle. She laid beside him for a few minutes, making she he wouldn’t fall asleep with that head injury, before eventually turning her attention to the book she’d begun reading the other day while he rested.

It was over an hour before he managed to speak.

“So…” He paused to clear his throat, his mouth dry. “I’m guessing you’d like to say ‘I told you so’ right about now.”

She looked up from the book she’d been reading and grinned. “Thought you’d never admit it.” Her face quickly softened as she focused on him, though: there was a bruise she hadn’t noticed before discoloring the right side of his jaw. It was bright and ugly and it looked like it hurt badly.

“I am sorry, though,” she whispered, setting the book aside and moving towards him. “Do you need more aspirin? I know it’s not much as is, but it’s the strongest I’ve got…”

He started to shake his head, then winced, his breath hissing through his teeth at the pain.

She crawled over to his side, curling up against him, her back against the wooden headboard. She’d used all the pillows in the apartment to prop his head up. She reached out for his hand, and rested her head against his left shoulder—two of the few parts of him that hadn’t been harmed in the fall.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again.

“Not your fault,” he replied. Very slowly and very carefully, he bent his head to the side until he could catch her eye. “Besides, you were right from the start, Jane. I was getting greedy. I probably deserved it.”

“‘Probably,’” she mocked, laughing. A minute later the laughter faded, and she eyed him with a quieter, warmer smile. “But you know something?”

“Hm?”

“I like you greedy.”

He managed a chuckle at that. “Only because I humiliated myself in the process.”

She grinned. “That may have added to my enjoyment, sure.”

“‘Sure.’” It was his turn to roll his eyes at her phrasing. But then he mellowed, too. “Jane?”

She glanced up at his whisper. “Yeah?”

“I want you to know that there isn’t anyone else I would rather humiliate myself in front of.”

She smiled, and kissed his shoulder. “Me neither.”


End file.
